The Rain's a Gonna Fall
by elsa3beth
Summary: Time doesn't heal all wounds. When an Academy class forces Jim to remember the horrors of Tarsus IV, he learns that sometimes telling your story is the best way to heal. Father figure Pike, friend Bones, and lots of OCs.
1. Chapter 1  Monday

**The Rain's a Gonna Fall**

Summary: Time doesn't heal all wounds. When an Academy class forces Jim to remember the horrors of Tarsus IV, he learns that sometimes telling your story is the best way to heal. Father figure Pike, friend Bones, and lots of OCs.

Author's Note: This is my first fanfic, so feel free to dish out constructive criticism, writing tips, character and plot suggestions . . . This story is mostly planned out, with the first few chapters setting the stage for the Tarsus story-so it's intentional that I'm only giving you hints of what happened at first. Ditto to the Pike relationship. My version of what happened on Tarsus differs from canon, but it seems more plausible to me, so I'm running with it.

Also, there are many similar stories on , and if you feel I've copied an idea and you want credit, or want me to change something, PM and I'm happy to do so. I think I've made this sufficiently different . . . but it's very possibly of subconsciously borrowed elements :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: TOS or 2009, or their characters, and all that.

**Chapter 1 - Monday**

Jim should have guessed from the syllabus. After 'Ethical Leadership' and before 'Ethics and Law', his eye had skimmed right over it. 'Ethics of Disasters'. Now, to be fair, the term Disaster had conjured images of volcanoes erupting and Klingon invasions, and the rapid asphyxiation of a starship crew as gynormous hull breaches ravaged an imaginary ship. It was only now, as the instructor fiddled with his PADD, clearly prepping a movie to play on the microskin screen that was the 'whiteboard', that he felt the tingling of apprehension. He couldn't mean . . .

Jim glanced at Bones at his right, but quickly averted his eyes when the man sensed his gaze. Did anyone else share his tickle of unease?

"Ok, cadets!" Commander Gevertz spoke in his usual sharp voice, his expression serious, but not irritated. "The next two weeks I want to take a look at how a person, or group's moral code can be changed by devastating events."

He paused a moment to let the topic percolate.

"When and why does our moral code change? or is it the very ethics themselves that change? Can something be ethical in one situation, but not in another? These are the types of dilemmas we must exam." _Great, we're back to philosophy._ "Take cannibalism. Many isolated, native Earth cultures of from the 20th century and earlier regularly practiced cannibalism. You cannot deny that a human body_ can _provide sustenance. But _we_ would never take part in such a practice today. Is it wrong, just because our social mores shy from the very notion? And think about hostage situations. Are you ethically in the right if your captor tells you to commit crimes, when you know that if you don't, either you, or another hostage, will die?"

With a tap on the pad he dimmed the room's lights to 50%.

"The first real life example we're looking at is the Tarsus IV massacre. Your reading for tonight goes much further in depth, but I'll give you an overview now, so you can better appreciate the holovids. Tarsus IV was an agrarian colo . . ."

Jim tuned out the rest of the summary, his mind still reverberating with the word 'Tarsus'. _You've got to be kidding me_. The memories chafed against that locked corner of his brain like sandpaper on asphalt. And with them came an upwelling of fear, anxiety, guilt, hunger . . . endless other emotions-all faint, but 'present', and ready to swallow his mind at any provocation.

Gevertz started playing the vids as he talked. It began with lines of colonists coming to medical tables manned by Starfleet officers-obviously post 'rescue'. All skin and bones, and their faces . . . so tired. He'd been whisked up to the Yorktown before he could summon a protest, so he'd missed out on the relief lines. Small blessing. The vid transitioned into a walk down the main residential 'street', occasionally showing house interiors. Gevertz was still talking, the voice dim next to the cacophony in his head. It was only when he heard the words 'children', and 'woods' in close proximity that he refocused his hearing. Suddenly the vids stopped moving and became a slideshow. Jim REALLY hadn't known there'd been that much media . . . or _that_ many pictures . . . of . . . everything, or anything really. The lean-to flickered onto the screen. A close up of his jury-rigged dispersion field. Kids, his old friends, all in a group, eyes large in their sunken faces. A kid on a stretcher inside the town hall. WAIT. He didn't remember that! Well, he remembered the stretcher, vaguely, but a camera? He didn't know whether to feel overwhelmingly violated, furious, or disgusted! He felt all three.

Bones had turned to look at him, a question in his eyes. WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT? He glared back. But he took a deep breath as he did so, and was suddenly aware that he was very short on air. _Just what I need-to hyperventilate mid-class, in front of Bones_. At least that damn picture looked nothing like him. Well, anymore. _How can anybody in the God Damned Alpha Quadrant watch this shit? _He slipped his hand into his bag and pulled out his PADD, as much to distract himself as to distract Bones. His fingers practically stabbed the surface as he opened up a Stel-net connection. He paused fractionally before typing in his database search parameters. A microsecond later . . . 27,049 multimedia responses to query 'Tarsus IV'. Well Fuck. Most of them public access, too. How had he never known about this treasure trove of emotional triggers before now?

Bones was looking at him again. He tried to keep the PADD tilted away from his prying eyes.

Changing the search criteria to 'Tarsus AND Kirk' brought up two articles, but both, much to Jim's relief, merely contained references to the Kelvin (in the all too common media practice of tying together completely unrelated disasters just for effect). A case sensitive search for Tarsus and 'JT' proved more lucrative. First person accounts were the most prominent results . . . a few articles . . . some . . . _what the hell was JT an acronym for that it's found with . . . ? . . . wait, there's a book? _'The Children of Tarsus' by Sarah Corning. _Hell, I'm amazed Starfleet could keep my name protected with this mess out there. _

Jim hated journalists. It didn't matter if they were good or not; if they were polite; if they had kind motives. They'd come by the farm every year or so when he was a kid, asking questions, wanting to have a 'conversation'. His mom would let them in-'Midwestern hospitality' she'd say. But when they left, she'd go up to her room, and when she came back down her eyes would be red. Sam and he never talked about it; it was what it was. But Jim knew it was the journalists who'd done it, and he hated them for it. He didn't have to meet this Sarah Corning to know he'd hate her too.

". . . suspected sabotage, but it was more likely a negligent soldier. Regardless of the culprit, the result was that the final food stores were exposed to the rain and spoiled. Two days later Kodos transmitted his execution order to his citizen soldiers. It took them an hour to mobilize, and the citizens were not told . . . "

Jim clenched his eyes shut for a moment, then returned his concentration to his PADD.

_'The Children of Tarsus' is the culmination of over a year of investigative journalism, encompassing rare interviews with both victims and several of the oft demonized citizen soldiers of Tarsus IV. The fate of the children of Tarsus is well known: uniformly slated for execution, most perished in the initial purge. But what is less well known is the plight of those children who escaped execution. Living in the forest, hiding in housing sub-basements, and in some cases selling their services to whomever they thought could protect them, these children struggled against insurmountable odds just to survive. By masterfully interweaving first-person accounts, personal log entries, and colony and Starfleet records, Corning gives readers a rare insight into the lives of these children that is a must read for historians and citizens alike._

_What a bunch of crock_, Jim said to himself, yet he couldn't quite silence the corner of his mind that yearned to read it. Almost in answer to his thoughts, a woman's voice began issuing from the classroom speakers.

"One of the most amazing facets of the Tarsus story-" Jim's eyes go up to the screen again, to the vid of a reporter with the Sol Communications Network logo on her uniform, "-is that some children actually survived, despite repeated efforts by Kodos and his men to capture and execute them all. A few were hidden by their families, and some ran from the phaser lines, but most of children who did survive did so by escaping into the woods before the soldiers began the round-up. Surviving colonists all say they received a txt-comm warning of the execution order 10 minutes before soldiers arrived, a txt-comm from an account registered under what we presume to be a pseudonym, the name 'JT'. As many as 60 children are thought to have fled before the massacre, though only 28 were found alive when Starfleet Relief arrived. We don't yet know . . ."

_Repeated efforts of Kodos and his men to capture and execute them all_. More like attempts to assault and EAT them all. But _that_ would be too unpalatable for a vid. _28 kids left? _He hadn't known the number_. It could have been 29._

The same vid reporter was walking through the woods now, trying to give the audience a 'feel' for what the kid's had had to go through. _Like she ever could_. Jim propped his elbow on his pull-out desk and rested is forehead on his palm. _This can't be happening. This can't be happening. _He tried to tune out the obnoxious, faux professional voice clanging over the speakers, but his eyes, even masked by his hand, kept flicking to the screen, drawn by some intangible force to bear witness to the images already seared into his head.

Now it was flashes of the children-the main group of them as they were led back into the town from the forest . . . individual kids with their colonist parents . . . a few taken aboard the Yorktown and Potemkin . . . close-ups of faces and emaciated torsos . . . some dead . . . there were two of him . . .

. . . and pictures of them before. When they were vibrant, and strong, and still children in more than the physical sense. He saw Kevin and Tom, Dana, Ganady, Carla. _Carla_.

_Her face wrinkled in pain as the beam struck her. Her arms a bright pink where the soldier's grip had causes bruises that didn't have time to form. Her black hair, matted with dirt, clinging to the side of her face and flying into her eyes as she struggled. Her eyes empty and sightless, and dead. Carla._

He looked away from the screen and down at his PADD. Nothing could change what happened on Tarsus. He ended his connection to Stel-net and tapped the PADD off.

There were 15 minutes left in class, and Jim spent them staring to the side of the screen, trying his best not to be consumed by his memories, even as he did his damndest not to pay attention to the images flickering on the screen.

It was raining. Pouring, actually, but Jim didn't feel cold. No, that wasn't exactly right-it was more that he felt that he _should_ be cold, so the fact that he _was_ indeed cold didn't even draw his attention. It had rained a lot on Tarsus. That had been the problem.

It was his toes that remembered it most. The water had run into his shoes and through them, permeating the synthetic fabric and leaving a puddle at his toes. His feet had squished with every step, each foot acting like a piston to push water in and out. It took less than a day for the skin on his toes to wrinkle up like raisons. By the third day in the woods they'd finally just seemed to disintegrate-pieces of water saturated skin wearing away bit by bit. He thought he'd get used to. Thought that the water would dull his nerves. But it didn't; he didn't. He got used to the pain-but it was always there.

SQUISH. SQUASH. He cringed at the sound. He was . . . where was he? He was walking on grass, and the squish was from his Starfleet issue boots turning on the wet turf. After class he'd gone . . well, he was pretty sure he'd been through Golden Gate Park. There had been trees . . . and . . . less people. And now . . . was that Lincoln Park ahead? That meant he was on . . . Cochrane Avenue. _My feet know me better than I do_.

He was in the midst of Starfleet officer housing. Commanders, Captains, and Admirals could find temporary and permanent housing on this street and in the neighboring districts when they were on planet. He hadn't been here in, what-four years? five? _I wonder if Chris even lives in the same one. I know he's been off planet since. _

No sooner did the thought come to him than he spotted the unit. It was a three story split condo-two two-story units on the bottom and a one-floor sprawling unit on top. They'd had the bottom right one. 2234B Cochrane Avenue, San Francisco, CA.

He wished they'd never fought. He wished he'd never run away. He wished he hadn't turned away every comm for the last 4 years. And he wished more than anything that he could go in that door and find Chris waiting for him, ready to make everything alright.

Jim turned around and headed back to Golden Gate Park

"Where the hell have you been?" It was Bones, waxing eloquent, as always.

Jim just grunted in response.

"Did Delahoy have you running in the rain? There's a reason we have gymnasiums."

_Delahoy?_ _Ah. Right. Combat training. He had missed Combat training. _ Jim grunted again, hoping Bones would take it as an affirmative.

He did. "Well serves you right for doing the advanced class. We got to stick to phaser practice and drills in my section. Idiotic for a doctor, if you ask me, but a hell of a lot better than rain running. You're making a puddle, ya know." Bones lifted an accusatory eyebrow and looked pointedly at Jim, who was standing rather listlessly by his bed. Jim just nodded and headed to the shower.

When he got out, he toweled off, put on some boxers, and fell on to his bed with an almost silent sigh. His brain just didn't want to function.

"You done the reading for Prime Directive tomorrow?" _No Bones. No I haven't_.

"No."

"Ya plan on doin' it?" _No. But I can see you are._

Jim groaned theatrically and reached for his PADD, thinking to feign activity, only to come up empty.

"Looking for this?" Bones held up a PADD from his seat at his desk. "You left it in Ethics. You seemed kind of distracted when you left." Bones's voice was flat, but his eyebrow was quirked in a clear question.

"Yeah. Uh . . . I . . . uh . . . I was expecting a message from Marlene, and I wasn't in the mood to concentrate on murder and famine and all that." The lie was slow to form on a his lips, and felt as weak as he was sure it sounded. Bones grunted in acknowledgement, mirroring Jim's own behavior in what could almost have been a salute to avoidance.


	2. Chapter 2  Tuesday and Wednesday

**Chapter 2 - Tuesday and Wednesday**

He didn't have Ethics again until Wednesday. Sometimes he wondered at that schedule. 400 years of school system development, and classes were still divided MWF and TR. Really? Tuesday passed in a blur of flight simulator practice runs and a boring lecture on provision 121A of the Prime Directive. His only reprieve was Interspecies Relations, where he got to see Marlene-his current fling . . . Or 'girlfriend' . . . if you wanted to read more into it. Which he didn't.

He didn't sleep much Tuesday night-hadn't slept much Monday, when it came to that. He seemed to see Tarsus in everything, not least of all in his dreams. But it could be sparked by the most mundane things. For example, just before Ethics he had a mixed lecture/lab engineering course. 'Intermediate Power Systems Engineering'. You'd think something that complicated would provide ample distraction for his morose thoughts, but no.

Today they were learning how to use alternative power sources to charge depleted phasers, tricorders, and other equipment, as Dr. Voeva was enthusiastically expounding:

" . . . problem we have is that most planet side power sources-solar, geothermal, fusion, and contained antimatter-matter reactors, cycle to a power grid or to batteries before they feed energy to our ports. If you can directly access the battery, this is good, because it should be easier to modulate the power-well to fit the current or phase of the thing your charging. But if the battery is buried, or damaged, then you have to deal with a variable power supply, which can easily burn out the connections in your tricor . . ."

And suddenly Jim was somewhere else.

_'I can't let it fail. I can't let it fail. I can't let it fail'. He clutched the tricorder in his hand, praying this would work, because if it didn't . . . 'I can't let it fail'. He'd unplugged the battery from the leads going up the thin pole with its fragile looking instruments. 'No one needs to know what the weather's going to be like. I can tell them myself: rain, rain, and more rain. Why waste power on a disdrometer?' He left the grounding line in, and closed the circuit on his tricorder. 'Please don't burn. Please don't burn. Please don't burn'. He didn't see any smoke coming from the seams . . . but the circuits could burn without smoke . . . He untwined the wires and switched on the tricorder . . . _

". . . these are the typical power output ranges for each model. Today you're going to play around with different modification setting to get a feel for what changes are necessary to feed each piece of equipment. You can work in pairs, but make sure you each . . ."

It was 'discussion' day in Ethics. They always did this-Gevertz would assign them reading, they'd get an overview the first day, discuss and debate the second day, and summarize and philosophize the third. But Jim really didn't want to discuss anything. He really didn't. The only reason he'd even shown up was that a small, perverse part of him that wanted to know more. Wanted to know EVERYTHING about that space-forsaken planet.

"Ok everybody. Enjoy your reading?" Gevertz asks, with a knowing half smile. There were several groans, and several sad eyes. Apparently the reading had actually succeeded in captured at least some of the horror of that place.

Bones raised an eyebrow at Jim, clearly skeptical that his roommate had done any such reading.

Gevertz continued, "I know. Not exactly light fair, is it? I want to start the discussion today with what most scholars consider the most morally reprehensible act of this whole disaster. That is, Kodos's execution order. What do you all think-was it in any way justified? Is there some logic in the idea that if supplies are limited, than it is the weakest who _would_ die first, and therefore, in a sense, _should_ die first? Who has an opinion?"

Uhura didn't even raise her hand. "If the situation was that dire, than the Governor should first have asked for volunteers. I think most parents would gladly die to save their child."

"So it is their status as children that makes them so special? Is it less morally reprehensible to order the execution of the elderly and sick? Why?" Gevertz probed.

A black haired cadet in the middle raised his hand.

"Cadet Akmeed?"

"The elderly have already contributed to society and lived. Their deaths was merely a swiftening of the inevitable. But those kids-they had their whole lives ahead of them."

A Vulcan, one of the few non-humans in the class, raised his hand in objection. "Our elders are often the care-takers of something equally important as life. They carry knowledge. It is illogical to value their lives less, for in many ways their contribution to society is far greater than the potential contribution of a child. Humans are one of many species who display acute sentimentality toward their offspring."

"You are correct, Cadet Kalem. But is that true in this situation as well, where the elderly were much less likely to survive a long famine, regardless of any execution order?"

"I merely point out that the same could be said for children."

Gevertz nodded agreement. "If it comes to that, perhaps Kodos should have relied on a medical opinion. Cadet McCoy, how long can a human survive without food?"

Bones responded in irritation, which, as he always sounded irritated, could not quite be taken as a reflection of any opinion. "An adult human in good health with clean water can survive at most 5-8 weeks without food. It depends on how much body fat they have, whether it's complete fasting or just insufficient food, and on the person. Kids, with their faster metabolisms and greater needs, might make it to the lower end of that range. The elderly about the same. But none of these are hard and fast rules-people have been known to die from starvation in 2 weeks. And with harsh weather . . . " he shrugged. "I will say that that kind of starvation in kids could cause permanent growth and developmental problems."

The discussion continued in that same vein: Gevertz pushing them to consider why such a decision might have been made, and the cadets arguing why it should never be made. Jim did his best to look just interested enough to avoid getting called on. Over the next half hour the conversation shifted to other crimes. How complicit were the citizen soldiers in the execution? In their harassment of colonists? Were they an example of group think? Did they have the right to question orders? And war crimes. Many soldiers committed atrocities, from rape to cannibalism to murder-were the soldiers who sat by and watched it happen without joining in as guilty as the rest? were they morally obligated to intervene, or would intervention have caused more trouble? What about crimes committed by colonists against the soldiers? crimes committed by children?

It was this last topic that finally pulled Jim into the conversation. He just couldn't keep his mouth closed-the words forcing his jaw open in his frustration.

"Did the children cross an ethical threshold when they shot soldiers? was it self defense, or could they have set phasers to stun?" Gevertz had asked.

Kalem was, of course, ready with a response, "If someone is hunting you, it is logical to ensure that they cannot relay your position back to their companions. Stunning the soldiers would not be as effective."

"But if they had tricorders and comms on them then their positions may have already been relayed back. Even if they were killed, the other soldiers would still know where to look." A girl in the same row as Jim and Bones argued.

"Would the kids have known that?" Cadet Li questioned.

"They could have moved the bodies, with the comms still on." Another added.

"But in all of these cases, it wasn't pre-meditated murder-this was still self-defense!" Uhura said heatedly.

"They had a right to defend themselves, and phasers put them on equal ground with the soldiers", Akmeed agreed.

And that was when Jim blew.

"They were kids! Stupid little kids playing with phasers! The oldest was 14, the youngest 7, and not a one had fired the damned things before. Keeping the phasers on kill was a reckless decision, with the constant risk of misfiring and friendly fire. Not to MENTION the waste in energy. A phaser on stun uses a fraction of the power it needs on the kill setting, which means their only weapons and fire starters were being depleted unnecessarily! It was stupid! _They_ were stupid!"

Jim was just short of yelling in the volume of his voice, and his outburst startled quite a few of the other cadets. They craned their head around to look at him where he sat in the back row. His anger drained away at the sudden scrutiny. _Gonna have to tape your mouth shut, Boy_. Frank had been about some things.

But Gevertz seemed enthused by the response, "Cadet Kirk-I thought you'd been a bit too quiet today. Glad to see you're still with us!" The instructor's smile broke the tension. "Kirk makes an excellent point. These were, indeed, kids; kids with little to no training in warfare, weapons, and survival. That's something we should all keep in mind. One could argue that ethical responsibility pre-supposes and understanding for the consequences of our actions. Do you think the soldiers were fully aware of the consequences of their actions when they carried out Kodos's orders?"

When class ended, Jim strolled nonchalantly from the room, his patented air of unconcern wrapped around him like a protective blanket, fighting every instinct to shoulder his way through the crowd and out the door as fast as he possibly could without garnering assault charges.

But things only got worse after that.

They had phaser drills in combat training that afternoon, and as soon as they switched to the humanoid dummies instead of the traditional targets, his hands started to shake so badly he nearly dropped his phaser. He did his best to be discrete as he used his left hand to prop up his right, but even then his aim was bad enough to draw the ire of Lieutenant Delahoy-a short but stocky young woman with a mean temper and a superiority complex.

He went out drinking that night. Not because he wanted to be around people-Stars no-but it was better to get wasted around strangers than to get wasted around Bones. And when he stumbled back to his dorm that night and his mind wandered to the bright yellow siding of number 2234B Cochrane Avenue, he ruthlessly quashed the errant thought, stuffing it down into that corner of his mind where he stuffed everything.

Wednesday night brought no more sleep than Tuesday night.


	3. Chapter 3 Thursday

Hey everybody! I'm SOOO sorry for the long posting delay! I went backpacking for a month, fell in love with a different fandom, and kind of put this on the backburner. Also, being new to story writing on , I assumed reviews would go to my email, and, receiving no such emails, I assumed nobody was reading, which relieved me of all the guilt I should have been feeling for not updating *sheepish*. I now see that I was completely mistaken, so I offer all of you reviewers my humblest apologies! I do have a fair amount of this story mapped out, so I don't plan on abandoning, but actual chapter writing can go pretty slow :(.

**Chapter 3 - Thursday**

Captain Christopher Pike was enjoying a rare moment of peace to contemplate life (and when the hell he'd get off the rock that was Earth and onto a ship again) when his station beeped to indicate a comm request. _And with my luck it will be an Admiral on my case for another cadet!_ He checked the sender. Dr. Samuel Gevertz / Commander, Science Officer (retired) / Earth-San Francisco-Starfleet Academy-Dyson Building.

He accepted the call.

"Sam, what can I do for you?" Chris inquired, face flat and professional.

"Good morning to you too, Chris. Had your coffee yet?"

Pike responded by lifting his mug to his lips and taking a sip, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

Gevertz laughed, "You're guilt-trip won't work on me, Captain! I've been pestering you for too many years. Speaking of which . . ."

Pike rolled his eyes, giving up the act and emitting a fake groan for effect. "What class is it this time? Didn't I make somebody cry the last lecture you dragged me into?"

"She claimed she had allergies, but there was no denying you left an impression." Gevertz grinned. "You know you enjoyed it."

Chris just smiled back.

"I think you can guess what I'm hoping you'll come talk about," Gevertz said, his expression sobering into a serious mien. Chris's own smile fell slightly at the change. "I'm teaching the Ethics class this year, and I thought maybe you could stop by and tell the cadets something of your experience with Tarsus IV. I know you've turned down other instructors in the past, but I think a personal account would . . ."

Pike brought his elbow up onto his desk so he could prop up his head while massaging his brow. Just the mention of that damned Ethics class seemed to trigger a stress headache. Those memories held nothing but anxiety and frustration for him, and they always made him think of the kid. Maybe if they were on better terms the memories wouldn't be so painful, but as it was . . .

"Sam," He lifted his head to look the older man in the eye, "No. I don't think there is anything in the world that could induce me to go before a class of overly curious cadets and cry about my _feeling_ and _memories_ of Tarsus. Find someone else."

Gevertz frowned, his eyes filled with sympathetic sadness, but his mouth firm, "Sometimes it can help to talk, Chris. It would certainly help the cadets."

Chris shook his head, his hand moving in sync, "There are several other people currently on Earth who were either on the planet or part of the rescue party, even if it _was_ 10 years ago. Ask them."

"You're the only one who was in a command position-who not only toured the colony, but met several of the key players, helped direct relief efforts, _and_ wrote a condemning report that helped send Kodos and most of his soldiers to a penal colony for life. You can't deny that your role may have been just a little more significant than others."

Chris gripped the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. _There's nothing you can say, Sam, really there isn't. _"I don't deny that, Sam, but there are-were-other factors. I _knew_ someone on that planet . . . It was . . . a difficult time . . . and I have no wish to dwell on it."

Gevertz's must have heard the suppressed emotion in Pike's words, because his expression flickered to surprise, then understanding, and finally settled into resignation. "I understand. Or at least, I understand that you'd like to keep your private life private. And I will respect that. Just remember, Chris, time doesn't heal all wounds." Gevertz gave him a sad, soft smile. "I'm guessing you know that better than most. If you ever want to talk-and I don't mean in front of my class-you know where to find me."

Gevertz ended the connection.

Chris sighed, and straightened, trying to stretch out the tension in his shoulders. It was going to be a long day. _When does Jim have to take that infernal class?_ He couldn't avoid the thought as it came to him. _He's a first year, so . . ._ All first year cadets took Ethics. Well, there were some exceptions, but on the whole-

He accessed the admin network and did a quick search.

Kirk, James T.

*schedule

"Damnit, kid," Pike sighed. His fingers hovered over the console, hesitating. "Damnit."

He pulled up a new txt-comm window and stared at his screen morosely. What could he possibly say?

"Let's it, Ska'teen. Now divert a little more to maneuvering for the approach . . . that's good . . . easy, easy . . . Stop! The tractor beam has you now. Power off the . . . yep, you got it. Good job Cadet." Lieutenant Commander Jacobs patted the four armed Budhesian in Cadet red sitting beside him on the shoulder. "Were you watching all that, Kirk?" Jacobs turned to look behind him at the other red-clad figure in the simulator.

Jim grinned back. "Yes Sir!"

Jacobs' smile twisted into a smirk. "Good. Then you won't mind getting me a cup of coffee while we practice undocking. Half a gram of sugar, no milk. Make it the Arkellian roast."

Jim rolled his eyes in well humored exasperation, and undid his safety straps. "Sir, yes Sir." He said loudly, saluting sharply as he stood. "One cup of Arkellian roast coffee, no milk, 500 mg sugar. Sir, would the Commander like a saucer for his mug, Sir!"

Jacobs didn't turn around, but Jim suspected it was because he might crack up if he did. Instead he replied with solemnity, "A saucer will not be necessary, Cadet, but if you could bring it in a travel cup I'd be much obliged."

Jim turned smartly on his heel and marched the grand total of 15 feet to the replicator. The simulator was actually a real shuttle—albeit an old one. The impulse engines had been removed, along with the (paltry) weapons system and most of the sensors, replaced with data feeds that mimiced their counterparts, so instructors could program different scenarios. The important thing, however, was that the interior was untounched, and therefore included some of the amenities—a replicator being the most obvious.

Unfortunately, being a 30 year old model, it didn't yet have a functional voice-operating system. Something about the frequency of the hull vibration, or the engine hum . . . _Whatever._ Jim reached his hand up to the touch pad and his fingers moved on autopilot. He felt a slight jerk as the shuttle disembarked—the hover field suspending the simulator weakening in imitation of releasing docking clamps.

The replicator hummed as his entry began to materialize.

Four medium blocks of an off-white, hard substance appeared where there should have been a cup of coffee. Jim grabbed a block and mechanically stuffed it into his right pocket and was reaching for a second before his mind processed what he was doing. His arm, half extended toward the replicator with hands outspread, froze, and then began to shake.

"Kirk! Where's that coffee?" Kirk could feel Jacob's gaze on him, and he moved his fingers frantically to the replicator's console and jammed his fingers over the pad with sloppy movements. With another hum the blocks disappeared, and with a more focused sequence of buttons the coffee was before him. Jim let out a long, unsteady breath. His right hand wrapped around the cardboard cup and he forced his shoulders to straigten and his knees to lock as he returned to the front of the shuttle.

"Sir, your coffee, Sir."

Jacobs took the cup with a raised brow, but thankfully returned his attention to Ska'teen.

Jim returned to his seat, resting his hands on his thighs. But as he did so, he felt something in his left pocket. A hard rectangle that pulled on his pants pocket even as it weighed on his mind.

Jim would have slammed the door if it were possible when he made it to his dorm, but all he could do was slam his palm against the center square of the console on the door frame. The door opened with a 'woosh', and he repeated the process to see it close. When he turned around he was confronted with an empty room. _Hmm. Bones must be out. Or studying. Or Stars knew where. _No doubt he'd stumble in sometime soon—he had a hospital shift in the morning.

Jim made his way to the shower, and didn't come out for half an hour. He'd met up with Marlene after Interspecies Relations. They often met up on Thursdays—it was wing night at the B-Shack just off campus, and they both had a small love affair with their Tangy Barbeque sauce. But he hadn't been hungry, not for anything that wasn't hard, white, and block shaped, so they went back to her place to watch a vid this time. Of course, he wasn't so interested in the vid as he was in _her_, but ostensibly he was there to watch a vid.

It didn't take long for both of them to lose track of the plot as they were consumed by more physical activities. He'd undone his pants and was working on her bra when things had taken a turn for the awkward. Well, he'd left too fast to see just how awkward Marlene found it, but it was certainly awkward as hell for him. She'd lain on her bed, black hair splayed across her white sheets, her eyes closed . . . and even though he saw the smile on her face, knew that the sheets looked nothing like the pale green moss of Tarsus IV, told himself that her hair was _nothing_ like Carla's, and that this room wasn't a clearing in the woods . . . he told himself all these things, but when he looked at her . . .

Needless to say, neither of them were satisfied when he left.

So he took a long, long shower.

When he got out, he grabbed his PADD with one hand and with his other he reached under his bed and pulled out a hidden bottle of scotch. Bones didn't care, but sometimes there were inspections. He took a deep swig, then switched on the book sized device.

As soon as he connected to Stel-net, Jim was notified of new Stel-mail. That was no surprise. Between reading attachments sent out by his instructors, reading group invitations sent by classmates, campus notifications, and (less numerous) the occasional personal message, Jim could usualy convince himself he was a popular guy. He opened up his account to both kill time and ensure his message cache didn't stay clogged with the nonsense mail.

There was a message from Marlene at the top. _I think I'll skip that one . . . at least til this bottle is empty._

Two attachments from Gevertz, a reminder from Delahoy to bring his space jumping gear to their next class . . . a link to several presumably boring essays for Prime Directive . . . a campus message from Pike about—hmm. There wasn't a subject. Pike, as the general academic advisor for his year, frequently spammed them with campus notifications and warnings, so it was not unusally for his name to pop up in Jim's mail, but usually . . .

He tapped the button to open it in a fresh window:

_Jim, _

_I know you don't want to hear from me, but I heard your Ethics class is covering T-. If you want to talk, I'm here. Any time. I'm still in the same unit—you'll never convince me that yellow isn't a masculine color! My emergency comm password is 'Pegasus NC1'. Any time, kid, I mean it._

_Chris_

Jim tapped the message closed. He really should call Chris, really he should. Jim took another swig of the bottle. He'd do it tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4 Friday

Er, worst author ever? I know it's been something ungodly like 2 yrs since I've updated this story, and I everyone a monstrous apology :(. I relocated 3 times in the past 2 yrs for new jobs, and then, when I finally seemed to find a good, permanent one, I of course became a workaholic, at the expense of my muse. I REALLY REALLY appreciate all the reviews, and you should all know that they were successfully a not so silent prod to get my act in gear-like a never vanishing, accusing finger . . .or a crying kid that won't stop staring at you . . . effective, not gonna lie. I can't promise quick updates, but I don't plan to abandon. Cheers!

**Chapter 4: Friday**

_Last class. Last class. Last class._ The mantra was the only thing that prevented Jim from ditching the fifth and final day of Tarsus lectures. Apparently there were, indeed, other disasters that deserved the concerted attention of 120 cadets each year . . . or at least the 30 in Gevertz's class. _There must be_.

There was a women standing next to Gevertz when he passed the threshold of the lecture hall. Tall, with dark hair and hints of euro-asia ancestry. She looked . . . vaguely familiar, and he struggled to dredge a memory up out of his foggy brain. By her pips and uniform she was a captain, but that just made him think of Pike, who had been a captain for over 10 years now.

"Surprised to see you here, kid. I gave up hope when I saw the slobber on your pillow starting to pool." Bones rudely interrupted his thoughts, taking a seat next to him. McCoy must have been up early to snatch breakfast while Jim slept to his fullest. "Who's the extra?" the doctor asked, gesturing to the female captain in their midst.

"You tell me." Kirk mumbled.

"No clue." Bones paused. "So . . . we can assume she's not so famous we would recognize her if we didn't both live in a backwater for the last 10 years?"

Kirk half smiled, probably for the first time that week. His eyes finally turned all the way to his friend as he rejoined, "Speak for yourself, Georgia boy; I grew up in a very respectable corn field."

"Right; and when you were in your diapers shucking ears, I was already a first-class expert in the delicacy they call fried chicken. You really think you're going to win an argument against a real southern gentleman, Mr. Iowa?"

"You really think a taste for fried chicken constitutes a pedigree in anything other than ass-licking of the chicken variety?"

"Watch it, kid, that's my Mom's chicken y-"

"Good morning, Cadets!" Gevertz drew all attention to the front, even as McCoy finished "-you're talking about!" Kirk rolled his eyes and they mutually grinned at the joking cut short.

"As you've hopefully all noticed, we have a guest with us today." He gestured to the woman beside him, "This is Captain Leanne Carter, the commanding officer of the USS Trafalgar-Starfleet's 8th Constitution class starship," his eyes swept the eager young faces looking for recognition. It was easy to see who had done the most thorough reading. "As you should remember from your reading, Captain Carter was 1st Officer under Pike when their ship, the Yorktown, responded to the distress signal on Tarsus IV, and she's offered to tell us a little more about her experiences."

The foggy memories that had begun to whisper in Jim's head as soon as he caught sight of the woman suddenly crystalized. _Leanne. _She had been a young 1st officer - in her early 30s at the time of the Tarsus rescue - but she had been competent, and she had been kind. Kind to all of the children, and to him in particular. He had never told her his name (she was still an adult in a position of power, after all) but he had thought about telling her, and that was more than he could say about most of the Starfleet rescue team.

"Captain Carter was in charge of orchestrating the evacuation of Tarsus and generating a record of who survived and who had died. That record is the official accounting even today, and I understand it was quite difficult to produce, as it was almost entirely based on word of mouth." His eyes had turned to Leanne as he said this, and he gestured for her to take the conversation away.

"Thank you, Sam," She gave him a wry smile. "This isn't exactly the topic of anyone's choice, even all these years later, but Dr. Gevertz thinks, and I agree, that it's through tragedies like the Tarsus Massacre that we learn the most about the human spirit, both the good and the bad. From a more mundane perspective, learning more about the Starfleet response to this event may give you greater perspective on how process, training, and regulations can help you cope with any situation, but also where those rules and training fall short."

Her eyes roamed the room, lightly resting on each cadet's face, and Jim did his best to look bored, instead of scared shit-less that she might recognize him. He must have succeeded, because she gave his face no more consideration than McCoy's.

"The Yorktown was green when we answered the distress call. As a crew we'd been together less than 6 months, and I had only just been promoted to Commander. I often say Captain Pike was the only one who knew what he was doing." She smiled to prove this was a joke. "When we picked up the distress message we were 30 light years away, which at warp 5 was a 22 day journey. The stardate on the message indicated it was already 17 days old, so by the time we reached Tarsus 38 days would have elapsed since the message was sent. Captain Pike locked in a course and immediately contacted the Potemkin, the next closest Starfleet vessel, and forwarded the message to Starfleet Command to organize a larger relief effort."

"If you're wondering at that communication gap-that a message can sit for 17 days and not reach anyone, when all ships these days have trans-stellar communications, just remember that Tarsus was an agrarian, isolationist colony. They intentionally brought only primitive communication equipment because they wanted to force themselves to cope with problems locally rather than be reliant on outside support."

"If I can interject," Gevertz took a step away from the back wall he'd been leaning on ,"that philosophy has since been revisited, and Starfleet now requires any colonies with Earth citizens to carry emergency long-beam communication equipment."

Leanne nodded, "That's right. And we also require a 6 months supply of air-sealed emergency rations for all members of the colony. Be that as it may, the fact is we had no idea when we first set course for Tarsus just how far the situation there had degraded. The distress message simply said they had lost their food supplies due to bad weather and needed re-supply or evacuation. It wasn't until we were en-route that we received a more alarming second message, clearly from a different sender. I still remember it: '2000 massacred, rest starving, please help'." Captain Carter shivered ever so slightly, still disturbed by the missive after all this time.

"We wanted to get there faster, but we couldn't. The Yorktown couldn't be pushed past warp 5 without severely draining our power reserves and unduly stressing the engines-it's something we would only do if we had Klingon's on our tail, if you catch my drift-and we needed to preserve that power for the heavy transporter and replicator activity we knew this mission would require. We'd be less than useless if we arrived on the scene and could only replicate food for a handful of colonists. So we clenched our teeth, organized relief crews, and began sustainably replicating a large supply of dense rations for dispersal planet-side."

"No one answered our hail when we finally came out of warp, so Captain Pike took an away team down to what our sensors indicated was the most densely populated area. That's when, through conversation with a mass of colonists, we learned what had happened. Not a pretty picture." Her eyes glazed over slightly in memory before continuing. "From a procedural perspective, our next steps were pretty clear - we needed to organize feeding lines and begin IDing which colonists had survived and which had not; we needed to organize medical assistance; we needed to make our presence known to all survivors in case any were in hiding; we needed to separate out the militia and government officials and begin taking written accounts to assess whether criminal charges were warranted. Finally we needed to begin planning mass evacuation, since it was immediately clear that no-one would be staying. It was a lot to do, but we were honestly all grateful for the work-the distraction."

"I was in charge of leading the evacuation, which was a straight up logistics problem. The Yorktown and Potemkin had room for only about 400 evacuees total, when stuffed to the bulkheads, which meant the remaining 800 or so colonists would need to wait another 3 weeks for Starfleet's cargo ships to arrive. When you have a limited space scenario like that you prioritize by medical and mental needs. For example, ailing elderly colonists, any children who no longer had families, any colonists who had been personally assaulted by the militia needed to be returned to a medically supervised, friendly, safe, stable environment as soon as possible . . . you know what I mean."

"This went hand in hand with my other duty, which was classification of all these colonists. Name, species, age, family contact information, medical status, extenuating circumstances . . . the most difficult part was getting anyone to stand still long enough to relate the information. They all had a habit of grabbing the food we provided and quickly disappearing. We had to institute a process where in order to be given food they _must_ provide their basic specs. Even then we had to seek out hidden pockets of colonists who were still avoiding all contact or who were ignorant of our arrival. The constant addition of people who may be at the top or bottom of the priorities list meant that creating a final evacuation plan allotting colonists to one ship or the other was hopeless until close to the last minute, and inconsistencies in the priority reporting by the various officers who were doing this logging, myself among them, caused further delays." She smiled self-deprecatingly, "A little bit of a nightmare for an OCD Starfleet officer who likes everything ordered and planned . . . but we got it done."

Jim paid more attention to this monologue than he cared to admit. He had been in one of Kodos' improvised prison cells at the time that Starfleet had arrived, and he was only discovered because Pike demanded a room by room sweep by Starfleet teams to ensure that no one was missed by negligence on his part. As a result he knew very little about the Yorktown's initial arrival and activity. He remembered very little, in fact, of that whole rescue until he started to recover aboard-ship. His memories of Leanne on Tarsus, for example, were just a face hovering above his own as he was carried out of the prison, and most of his memories were of being questioned in sick bay, and scoldings for getting in trouble on various decks after. That unexpectedly made him smile slightly. Strange that some of those memories could be fond.

Leanne looked to Gevertz to indicate she was done even as she said, "That's the high level summary. I think Dr. Gevertz wanted to save the rest of our hour for questions. Is that right?"

Gevertz nodded. "Yes, that's right, thank you Captain. I'd like to start the Q&A with one of my own and then we'll open the floor. You mentioned assessing whether criminal charges were warranted. At which point did it become apparent that they were indeed warranted, and how did that process proceed?"

Leanne looked grave, "That they were warranted was first indicated by the second transmission we received: '2000 massacred'; and it was reinforced by the interviews Captain Pike had with the colonists on his first away mission. I suppose it was never really in question that something criminal had been done, but with something that big, involving so many possible convictions, you want to make sure you have all the evidence before taking action, otherwise you might end up letting people go who should be tried, or falsely accusing someone who is innocent.

"On Tarsus we needed to find proof of the massacre - bodies or records . . . indications of a much larger population than now lived. And, much more difficult, we needed to assess the culpability of each guard and militiaman, and we needed to determine who in the chain of leadership had made which decision." She sighed, "There were a lot of . . . rumors, at that time. Some of the colonists actually believed Kodos was just a figure head who had been murdered in a coup by the guards, or was a puppet controlled by his lieutenant governor. I've only had cursory legal training, so I'm sure there were more reasons, but I for one wanted to be sure we got our man and got him good."

One of the cadets in the front row made a cat call and cheered "Here Here!" which inspired several of the others to clap. Even Uhura, with a roll of her eyes, smiled and clapped.

Kirk used the opportunity to raise his hand to ask the next question. It caught Captain Carter's eye and she looked him over in brief examination. Kirk sensed no recognition, and for that he thanked his uniform and age. Taking the look as tacit permission to proceed, he did so, "What became of the guards who were successfully convicted, and under what circumstances did guards escape conviction?"

Pike had told him once that it was healthy to be angry. He was pretty sure that the Captain wouldn't say quite the same about revenge, but it galled him to think of any of those men walking around scot free, maybe even in this very city.

Leanne gave him a considering look, more for the careful control in his voice than for the question, "Good question, Cadet…?"

"Kirk, Ma'am."

"Cadet Kirk. The guards who escaped conviction fell into two camps: there were those who could make a convincing legal case that they were acting in direct peril of their lives and were therefore acting in self defense; then there were those who, against orders, directly assisted colonists and in many cases saved lives, which was corroborated with testimony from multiple colonists. These guards were either fully exonerated or given reduced sentences. All convicted guards were ultimately sent to a penal colony for life. I wasn't involved in most of the trials, but I have faith that our justice system did it's job."

"You mean some of those monsters went free?" Uhura couldn't contain her disdain.

Leanne raised an eyebrow, "Not all of them were monsters and that was up to the courts to decide."

"But-"

"Cadet Uhura," Gevertz cut in, "We'll be exploring the ethics in these kind of court rulings later in the semester if you can contain your enthusiasm until then."

"Yes, sir," only Uhura could look condescending, disappointed, and chagrinned at the same time.

Akmeed couldn't help continue the thread, "Are there any former guards now on Earth?"

Gevertz all but glared, stepping forward, and Leanne tightened her lips, "Very likely. Most were as much a victim of Kodos and the Tarsus famine as any of the colonists. Let's move on, shall we?"

"Yes, indeed," Gevertz stole the floor, "You said you were in charge of evacuation logistics - were you also responsible for shipboard logistics of housing and board for the evacuees, and family notifications and reunions for victims who had living relatives? I understand that would have been a pretty substantial task."

The room shuffled at the change in topic, but they were no less interested. Leanne took a deep breath and let it out. "Indeed. Many of the colonists, the children in particular, refused to give their true names." Leanne grimaced in remembered frustration and disquietude. "Some just didn't trust us, and others may have come from troubled homes they didn't want to return to. Even some of the adults wanted to remain anonymous, though they had a harder time of it, because their flight and medical records were more complete. To this day there are still a handful of survivors who we never IDed." There were some raised eyebrows in the crowd at this. In an age like theirs, it was almost inconceivable that a digital paper trail didn't exist for everyone in the universe. Leanne continued, "It's a shame, too, both for them and for Starfleet. The central Earth government did its best to provide medical and financial support to all survivors who needed it for several years after they returned to Earth, and we couldn't do that without a name to go on. Worse still, some of those colonists could have provided valuable testimony to make sure that no guards were making false claims of innocence. Without a witness, many of the crimes on Tarsus couldn't be confirmed or tied to one man."

Kirk felt a shiver work its way up his spine. He was never called in for any trials as a kid - hadn't even known they were happening. He had always assumed that since Pike knew who he was, _Starfleet_ knew who he was. Of course Starfleet would keep all that confidential, so the press wouldn't know that JT and James T. Kirk were one in the same, but nonetheless, the people who needed to know would know. It had never occurred to him that Pike wouldn't tell anyone. I mean, Jim hadn't _wanted_ him to tell anyone-had _begged_ him not to in fact, but Pike was an adult and Jim was a kid, and so he had never truly believed that when Pike told him his secret was safe, he was telling the truth.

Bones had been telling him for the past 5 months that he had trust issues. _Damn him._

"What's the statute of limitations on genocide?" Uhura asked.

"There is none, but most guards were charged with lesser crimes, from assault to manslaughter, and the statute varies by crime. One exception is for current and former Starfleet officers, which can be sentenced by tribunal for crimes of any age." Carter smiled, "It may have been 10 years ago, but I say better late than never."

The questions continued for some time after than, but Kirk tuned it out. He couldn't get past the thought that even one of those bastards was out there, living free and clear, as if they'd done nothing wrong. It was a haunting and galling thought-he didn't know whether to be pissed off or irrationally frightened. Both, of course, inevitably lingered in his mind.

He only tuned back in when he heard a few backpacks rustle and notebooks close. The old man looked to be tying up the conversation. Good. _5 more minutes . . ._

" . . . and that concludes our discussion of the Tarsus massacre." Gevertz said, Captain Carter now standing back from the podium. "But before any of you run off, we need to discuss something." _No._ "As a summary project for this section, you'll be writing an essay, to be turned in next Friday-that's one week from today-on the topic of the Tarsus disaster" The room visibly deflated, and Gevertz smiled knowingly. "I will send out a hard copy of the prompt after class, but I'll tell you now, I want you to examine the Tarsus situation in greater depth, with particular focus on moral quandaries. For example-assess whether Governor Kodos was in any way justified in his actions, and defend your position. Or look at the culpability of the colonial soldiers in carrying out those orders, and in resorting to cannibalism and petty crimes. Or look at the children who lived in the woods off their own ingenuity. Was their killing of soldiers an ethical imperative? What would you have done if you were the Governor? Your papers need to clearly demonstrate that you've done some research, that you've thought on the subject, and that you can communicate those ideas. I know you think I'm pounding this particular example a little hard, but it was a landmark case in human rights, and holds many important lessons we could all learn from." He gave them all a stern look. "Now if you'll please join me in thanking Captain Carter for taking the time to speak with us, it was incredibly enlightening." He began clapping, and the cadets joined in with genuine appreciation, despite the underlying group desire to skip out of class as fast as possible.

Kirk brought his hands together numbly in an automatic copy of Bones, but avoided his roommate's eyes as he fled from the classroom as soon as the bell tolled.

#####

"Jim!" "Jim!" A slightly shrill contralto voice reached him from across the quad as he resolutely made his way toward the first year dorms.

"Jim! Goddamnit wait a minute, will you!?" Marlene snaked through the crowd to reach his side, clearly having sprinted from another class. When she finally caught up with him she raised an eyebrow at him and glared.

He avoided her gaze.

There was an awkward, tense silence between them as he led them along his pre-set course, in the general direction of Old Fulton Street.

"Well?" Marlene prompted.

He fought to avoid biting his lip.

She huffed, then capitulated in the face of his continued silence, "What the hell is up with you this week? Did something happen I don't know about? I know I can run my mouth off sometimes, but that's never bothered you before . . ."

The thought needled its way into Jim's brain that Marlene thought _she'd_ done something wrong, which couldn't be further from the truth. But he'd never liked dwelling on emotions.

"No, I'm just not in a good place right now. I need some time alone."

She looked hurt, her eyes widening in consternation. "Time alone? Do you mean now, or this week, or forever?"

He'd only been thinking of his immediate future when he said it, but given the opportunity -

"I'm no good to anybody right now."

"That's not an answer."

"I think it is."

She stopped walking, but he didn't.

"Jim!" She tried one last time. "Jim!"

"Gaddamnit Jim Kirk!" He could hear her angry footsteps as she turned away and marched the opposite direction.

At least he'd be ready for space jumping by the time his Combat Training class rolled around-jumping off anything taller than a townhouse was looking appealing right now.

Something tickled his memory. _Shit. Shit shit shit. That would be the Combat training class that started 5 minutes ago. Shit! _He kicked the sidewalk angrily, feeling very much like kicking some_one_. It had certainly been his solution in the past, one he'd been trying to restrain since joining Starfleet. He sure as shit wasn't going to class late, and without his gear – he _couldn't_ really if they were space jumping. Transporter access was strictly regulated, and they would have beamed up to the training station in one group.

_Fuck Delahoy and her combat training._

His feet had been carrying him to his dorm, and that's where he was going to go.

Bones wasn't in their room when he arrived, for which he was thankful. Or at least he was pretty sure he was thankful. He fell backwards onto his bunk and laid prone for a span, his mind going nowhere and yet somehow still running a mile a minute. Without thought he reached an arm beneath his bed and pulled out a bottle of cheap brandy, took a swig, capped it, and returned the bottle to its hiding place. The burning sensation was a nice distraction and he felt himself relax marginally. 15 minutes passed. Twenty. After 30 minutes the stillness became too much, and he rolled over onto his stomach, wrenched his bag open and pulled out his PAD.

He would never admit it to anyone, least of all himself, but beneath his anger, fear and frustration, Gevertz's class had left him deeply curious. He had pushed his memories of Tarsus so far back in his mind for so many years that thoughts of his friends there, of the events that followed, of his enemies and Kodos, had long been smothered beneath a haze of ignorance.

What had happened to them? There had been 23 kids in the woods with him. That damn book said 28 children total survived, so there must have been more in the town, or hidden elsewhere. Where were they now? Had they been dragged into the trials?

He started with some simple queries over Stelnet. "tarsus survivors" "tarsus children" "tarsus interviews" "tarsus memorial" "tarsus journal|'first person account'". There were thousands of listings in the results, but the top links were on the whole pretty fruitful. The identity of each child had been kept classified or wiped completely for their safety and privacy, but several had voluntarily spoken out when they reached the age of 18 and became legally able to make their own privacy decisions. Five he recognized Three others who spoke out must have survived by other means. Some had just granted single interviews, several had written short accounts of their experiences, and three had written books. He didn't quite feel brave enough to read through those stories at the moment, but he had no compunctions against looking up contact information for the kids he recognized. He hadn't known all of their last names, but he doubted there could be two Tom's, or Russel's, or Jenna's or T'kan's on Tarsus in his age range.

Thomas Leighton - Lt. I, Medical Division / Earth-San Francisco-Starfleet Academy-Lily Sloane Hospital

Russel Lesrado - Student Grade 10 / Earth-Mumbai-Mumbai South-Central Ecole

Jenna Richardson - Writer / Moon (Earth)-Armstrong Colony-Private Address

T'kan (House Kl'skwup) - unknown / Vulcan-Raal Province-Private Address

_Tom lives right here in the City!_ All he had to do was hack into the Starfleet personnel database . . . and by hack he meant use Chris's access codes . . . and . . . _there! _ he had a stelnet address . . . his starfleet housing address, and . . . yep, there was his schedule!

Looked like he was a fresh graduate, staying on to continue research in . . Interplanetary Biology and Psychology. _Does that make him a doctor, a scientist, or a shrink?_ Best not to wander down that road. He pulled up a headshot. He was almost unrecognizable from the boy Jim had known. If it weren't for the scar running across his left eye he would hardly have believed that this was indeed his friend Tom. But once his mind accepted what was before his eyes, he felt a welling of emotion stir in him.

Kodos had left his mark on all of them one way or another, and the last time he had seen Tom, Jim had been leaving the older boy in charge while he left for another food-foraging mission into Kodos' encampment. They had been too desperate to waste time on worries and thanks, but they had each wished the other good luck, and that had been enough. To see that face again, now healthy and grown, and very much alive, filled Jim with a confusing blend of pride, anger, happiness, sorrow, and self-doubt. It was so good to see his friend so healthy, and yet who was he to judge? He who had ignored all of his brothers and sisters in arms since the day he left Tarsus? He who had been unable to provide for them in the last week? Who had directly led to some of their deaths?

He cleared the PADD with a tap.

It was time for another walk.

####

AUTHOR'S NOTE: a bit much exposition in this chapter, but the devil's in the details, right?


End file.
